


But What Am I?

by witchqueencirce



Series: The Witcher: Aoife of Skellige [1]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-15
Updated: 2020-02-15
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:48:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22738276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchqueencirce/pseuds/witchqueencirce
Summary: In which I introduce my witcher oc, Aoife of Skellige. She was Crach an Craite’s great-aunt before joining the School of the Wolf, but we’ll get to that sometime later.  Set during the Witcher 3 quest Following the Thread.
Series: The Witcher: Aoife of Skellige [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1634941
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	But What Am I?

She’d been waiting for them in this tavern most of the evening - not that they knew she was waiting for them - but she had been waiting all the same.

Their travels should have led them to the Seven Cats Inn several hours ago. Leave it to Dandelion to give her slightly skewed information when she dared be in his presence long enough to ask for any. She skimmed her finger around the rim of her tankard, nursing the Kaedweni stout, not wanting to leave her table in the back corner to head to the innkeep just yet to purchase lodging. She’d wait, just a little longer, until the moon rose until it was even in the sky.

She’d heard the rumours they were looking for Jad Karadin, and that was not something she was wanting to miss. She had once called Aiden friend too, and was not ready anytime soon to forgive those responsible for his death.

The room fell silent as the door opened, the heavy falling of the rain mixing in with the din of the clientele. She smiled under her heavy hood, the material at least offering her some anonymity until she was ready. Not that she was recognized as often this far south, but a precaution she preferred to take nonetheless. 

_ Finally. _

Geralt of Rivia and his fellow witcher Lambert thudded in through the entryway. The pair headed for the innkeep and no doubt ordered enough lager to sink an ordinary man, while casually asking where to find an elven woman named Vienne.

It had been since last winter that she’d seen either of them, having headed far from Kaer Morhen as soon as the ground had begun to thaw. It certainly had had everything to do with a contract she’d heard about in Skellige and nothing to do with an argument that had ended with a flagon nearly shattering off of Lambert’s head. 

The men turned and went to the corner where the innkeeper had pointed. The corner she’d been keeping an eye on all evening, several steps ahead of the two men already. They spoke for awhile with the woman, Geralt putting a hand on Lambert’s shoulder before the younger witcher turned with a huff and headed toward the door, Geralt close behind.

“Witcher, I’ve something before you go!” The innkeep called to Geralt, so easily recognizable with a little help from his silver mane and Dandelion. She wondered sometimes if he regretted befriending the bard those decades ago. She certainly had made a point of never befriending a bard.

“Please, wait! We’ve a monster for you, if you’re willing.” The innkeep hurriedly added as Geralt turned back their way, “we’ve coin.”

Lambert scoffed, “good, cause if there was no coin, I’m not interested.” She could still see the rage rolling off his shoulders, knew whatever they’d found out, it hadn’t helped.

“Yes, we’ve all pitched in, the farm at the west end of the village, haunted at night by a woman that wails and screams. Can’t get no sleep and by morn someone has taken ill and passed from hearing her screams.”

Geralt nodded, knowing already the nature of this specter. “Too bad our fellow witcher wasn’t with us as well, she specializes in Beann'shies.”

Vienne, who’d moved towards the bar again to refill her mug, scoffed, clearly listening in on the conversation. “She? Ain’t no lady witchers.”

Lambert - and she couldn’t tell if it was still the rage from before or a new wave - snapped out an almost childish “there is so.”

Vienne scoffed again, spitting on the ground before she spoke. “There ain’t no lady witchers. All the stories say it’s only the men who go through your mutations, I’m not more capable of being a witcher than the innkeep or old Bernice here.”

The drunkard seated in front of the innkeeper lifted her head from the bar at the sound of her name, hiccuping loudy and mumbling ‘ _ ain’t never heard of no lady witcher _ ’ before resting it back down against the wood.

Vienne nodded, her ale soaked mind content with the agreement. “ Ain’t no lady witchers.”

And now was her time to reveal herself, to prove that yes, while rarer than her male counterparts, she certainly did exist. She rose from where she sat, lifting her hood and shaking her long auburn hair loose.

“I know you aren’t, but what am I?”

The small elven woman's face went white as she caught sight of her cat-like eyes. Out of the corner of them she could see the grins of her brothers at her words - even if Lambert’s turned to a wince, remembering the flagon that had soared past his head.

“Aoife of Skellige, witcher.” She turned to the innkeep. “Now where’s this monster?”

**Author's Note:**

> I’m still a wee bit rusty from not writing often for quite some time, but baby steps. (A short note too, I love Dandelion, it’s just... Aoife doesn’t share the same feelings, haha.)
> 
> [Check out my writing masterpage on tumblr!](https://witchqueencirce.tumblr.com/writing) Thank you for reading! ❤


End file.
